The Magical World of the Fae Event - Iron By PG Forte

IRON
PG Forte


Blurb: A blacksmith with a tragic past, a faery princess with an uncertain future and a love that burns like iron.
When an immortal, shape-shifting fae arrives on his doorstep seeking shelter, Gavin O’Malley knows he’s in luck. For Aislinn can give him everything his life’s been missing. Now, all he has to do is find a way to keep her—without losing his soul in the process.


Excerpt:
It was just past midwinter, at the tail end of yet another cold, December day when Aislinn Deirbhile rode up from Kilbanning. She halted her mount on the rutted, dirt track and surveyed the situation before her. O’Malley’s forge, and the smith’s cottage which was situated across the yard from it, stood all alone in a quiet hollow, just down the road from where Aislinn sat, steeped in thought. The horse on which she was riding, being of a breed perhaps more perceptive than most, was clearly as nervous as she at the prospect; he tossed his head and whinnied softly causing the silver bells on his harness to jingle.
“Milady,” pleaded the small man who rode at Aislinn’s side. “Will you not reconsider? Come away from this place—now, before it’s too late. My people are still willing to offer you shelter, as we have done ere these months past, and ye have yet to come to any harm with us.”
“Nay, Eoghan.” Aislinn smiled sadly at her companion. Though slight in stature, quite dwarfed, in fact, by the tall, silver-white steed upon which he sat, the spriggan’s courage was that of a giant. “You and your people are true friends indeed, but my enemy is at his strongest now. None can hope to stand against Annwn’s full might.” She turned her gaze back toward the small, stone buildings at the end of the lane and sighed. “If there is any shelter to be had against Winter, or if I’ve any hope of surviving the geasa that have been laid upon me, I must find them here.”
“But, Lady,” the little man implored, his distress evident in every line of his face. “How can there be any help for you here? A blacksmith. A worker in iron. The very ether is contaminated with its foul essence! Can you not smell it on the wind? Can you not almost taste it?”
“Oh, aye.” Aislinn grinned in reply. “And can you not imagine the look it will put on Tiernan’s face when first he tracks me here? How I wish I could see it!” But just thinking about Tiernan ap Annwn, her would-be husband—nay, her would-be jailer—wiped the smile from her lips in a hurry. She urged her horse forward. “Come. Let us make haste. Night is upon us.”
As they picked their way between the rocks and mud of the rutted boreen, Eoghan continued his litany of complaints. “Are ye still after putting your faith in that oracle you consulted this past Samhain? You canna be serous. You know as well as I that most of what occurs in the realm of the Fae is well outside the druid’s ken.”
“Indeed, my friend.” Aislinn inclined her head. “But, as I am banished from the Realm ’til Summer’s return, ’twas for information pertaining to this dimension that I sought out the Oracle of Death; as well as for advice on how I might best survive in this world.”
“Sure and that Druid must have imbibed a cup too much of the nawglan,” Eoghan said in tones of disgust. “To have bid you find shelter with a blacksmith.”
Aislinn sighed. “Ah, my friend, can you not at least enjoy the irony with me? Is not the plan elegant in its subtlety? Sure and ’tis the last thing Tiernan will be expecting me to do; and once I am safe behind yon walls even you must admit I will be beyond his reach for as long as I choose to stay there.”
“Aye, Lady.” Eoghan’s voice was grim. “And beyond the reach of any help such as I or mine might wish to offer you, as well. But why talk ye of choosing? Methinks you will not be safe once you are locked behind the walls of such a place. My Lord Tiernan is not the only one whose plans may be thwarted thus. That same iron you trust now to keep your too-ardent suitor out, may very well serve to keep you in.”
“I’m not unmindful of the risk, Eoghan. But, hush, my friend. No more talk now. Even in this desolate place, the Night may have ears.”
The sound of their horses’ hooves, clattering against the cobbles, echoed loudly on the still, evening air as they entered the smith’s yard. Light spilled out onto the stones when the cottage door swung open and a man appeared in the doorway. Even with his face in shadow, Aislinn’s sight was such she could still detect the frown on his visage as he looked them over. His gaze swept her with barely a pause, seemed hardly to touch at all on Eoghan, who had cloaked his true form, and lingered longest on the horses.
He was an exceedingly well-formed man, she observed; eyeing him back with interest for, after all, this was the man, or so the druid insisted, on whom her safety—nay, her very life—might well depend. She estimated his age at about three dozen summers, maybe a couple less. He stood well over six foot; strong and fit and fairly muscled, with hair dark as a raven’s wing and thick, straight brows which almost met above an equally straight nose. Several days’ worth of stubble darkened his cheeks and softened the angles of his jaw. She thought his face would have been quite pleasing, overall, were it not for the scowl that sat too comfortably upon his features, as though it had found a permanent home there.
“Well, then?” he asked, at last, and something about the deep timbre of his voice caused a shiver to run down Aislinn’s spine. “And what would you two be wanting?”
“Is it Mr. O’Malley to whom I’m speaking?” she inquired. “Mr. Gavin O’Malley? The blacksmith?”
“Aye. ’Tis my name,” he said. “Might I know yours?”
“Milady,” Eoghan whispered urgently as Aislinn threw him her reins and slid to the ground. “Have a care!”
“It is well,” she replied, amused by the spriggan’s concern. Did he think her so far gone in her fear as to forget herself and make a present of her name to the whole outdoors? Still shaking her head at his foolishness, she turned toward the mortal and smiled. “My name need not concern you, for now, sir smith. But, lo, the day grows late. Will you not invite me indoors that we might discuss our business in greater comfort?”

USA Today Bestselling Author PG Forte inhabits a world only slightly less strange than the ones she creates. Filled with serendipity, coincidence, love at first sight and dreams come true.
Originally a Jersey girl, and forever a California girl at heart, PG currently resides in the beautiful Texas Hill Country where she continues to write contemporary and paranormal romance in a variety of sub-genres. The common thread linking them together? Her stories are always centered around themes of friendship, family, and heartfelt feelings.
 
Even the vampires? Yes. Especially the vampires.